Adventures In Coupledom
by Blackbirdox
Summary: Charlie Dalton and Spot Conlon may not seem like your average, run of the mill couple, but that's because they're not.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own either Dead Poets Society or Newsies. Woe is me.

**A/N:** So, I have a really amazing friend named Cam and sometimes we have really silly conversations that lead to sillier ideas. Like a DPS/Newsies crossover, for example. We're working on more stories for our little universe but she happened to suggest the idea of Charlie and Spot at a gay club so I just took it and ran with it. Literally. This is just weird and random but I hope you enjoy it anyway. We call it Sparlie. :)

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><p>This is love, Spot reasons. It just has to be.<p>

If he didn't love Charlie, he would have run a long time ago. And he probably _should _have run a long time ago but he let _feelings_ get involved and feeling are truly the root of all evil.

Feelings are why he agrees to try something new with Charlie. Feelings are why he can't say no when Charlie pouts and begs and skulks around the house until Spot agrees to his suggestion. Feelings are why he ends up wearing an entire bottle of glitter that covers him from his hair to his shoes- and Charlie will never be allowed to open any containers ever again, thank you very much.

Feelings are why he ends up in the neighborhood gay bar on a Saturday night, sandwiched in between Charlie and a man dressed entirely in leather who keeps shooting Spot one of the most lustful, and undesirable, looks he's ever seen.

Fucking feelings. They're the root of all evil.

"I know we're a couple of queers and all but do we really have to do this?" Spot asks, bitterly sloshing back a sip of beer. "It's embarrassing."

Charlie doesn't answer him; just gives him a little shrug as he continues to peruse the dance floor, eyes all lit up with glee or some shit like that. This is like every holiday rolled into one for Charlie- there's eye candy everywhere and he can stare as much as he wants without having to pretend like he's not actually staring.

He's the most loyal, faithful boyfriend- really, its true- but his eye wanders everywhere and anywhere and pretty much follows anything that's breathing. Spot doesn't particularly mind, not even now, because it provides nothing but amusement for him.

"Hey." Spot reaches over and nudges Charlie in the ribs. "Close your mouth. You're gonna start drooling."

Charlie snaps his jaw shut, narrowly avoiding giving his tongue a rather nasty bite. "I don't drool."

Spot snorts. "Yeah, not yet. We should have brought a bucket to put under you. You might flood the place."

"That is-."

"Oh, you know it's true." Spot finishes the rest of his beer in one swig and sets the empty bottle back down on the bar. "What are we supposed to do here, anyway? Just… shop?"

Charlie smirks around the rim of his glass- his fucking _martini _glass, for Christ's sake. Spot almost wants to ask him if he could be anymore gay but he already knows the answer is no, no he could not be.

"We can shop if you want to. It can be your birthday present for me."

Spot has to pause and mentally count the days before he snorts again. "Your birthday is two weeks away."

"And you don't even remember it," Charlie pouts, watching a shirtless Latino man shimmy across the dance floor out of the corner of his eye.

"Drama queen."

"Just queen will do," he replies, giving a saucy little wink to a man at the _other_ end of the bar. Spot briefly considers counting just how many men Charlie makes a pass at but he figures he'll just lose track within the next five minutes. Or he'll drink too much and actually start making passes himself and then, well, no one would be keeping track.

"So really, what are we supposed to be doing here?" Spot asks again, letting his gaze wander out towards the dance floor.

Charlie just shrugs in response. "Whatever we want, I guess. I just thought it'd be nice to have a night out to ourselves."

Spot pauses again, and then raises an eyebrow. "We go out every Friday night."

"Well… here we can… we can… well, you know what I mean."

"Nope. Not following you."

Charlie huffs, narrowing his eyes in Spot's general direction. "We can be ourselves here."

Spot blinks. "Are you talking about being gay?"

"Are you really that stupid?"

Spot pauses yet again, and then reaches around to wave the bar tender over for a fresh beer. If Charlie's getting serious, they're going to need alcohol to get through it. Lots and lots of alcohol. "We're gay everywhere else we go, you know. Everyone knows you're about as queer as a two dollar bill."

"Yeah, well." Charlie places his glass down on the bar for a refill as well, tracing the rim with his finger. "We can't be a _couple_ anywhere else."

And there it is. Charlie's serious face. Spot grabs his beer.

"_Technically_, we're a couple everywhere."

"Sean…"

Spot groans. The use of his given name means Charlie is pulling out the big guns and that Spot should just listen to what he's trying to say and not make jokes, lest he be sleeping on the couch for the next week and a half.

"Alright, alright. I understand what you're saying." And even though he's not one who enjoys too many public displays of affection, he reaches over and places his hand on top of Charlie's, lacing their fingers together. "This is kind of nice."

He doesn't have to look over his shoulder to make sure no one's around to see him touch Charlie or hug Charlie or kiss Charlie or give Charlie a playful swat on his ass. Anyone who saw them here wouldn't even look twice, which is refreshing in a way.

"Mm, it is," he responds, giving Spot's fingers a gentle squeeze. "We don't have to hide anything."

"No," Spot smiles. Charlie's right- for once, they have nothing at all to hide.

"…We can dirty dance in public."

Spot's 'I'm-humoring-you-and-getting-invested-in-this-whole-relationship-thing' smile slowly falters, turning down into a displeased scowl. "You brought up all this… this… couplely crap just to get a dirty dance?"

Charlie grins. "What? We've never had an audience before. And you know how much I like it when you do that little hip wiggle-."

"Please stop talking."

"Does that mean yes?" Charlie asks with a grin, playfully batting his lashes.

Spot continues to scowl. "No."

"Yes?"

"No."

"Good. I knew you'd see it my way."

Spot manages to chug maybe one sip of beer before Charlie grabs a hold of his wrist and hauls him to his feet, pulling him out towards the dance floor and the sea of writhing bodies and men in tiny white tank tops and _oh_.

Well, maybe Charlie did have a point about the allure of the club after all.


End file.
